Do you realize what you're worth? What you are really and truly worth, and not in some

 

Hallmark, heartwarming bullcrap kind of way? Dollars and cents - do you know how much

 

you're worth? You probably don't, probably never gave it a second thought, and that's where

 

people like me pounce like a wolf wearing your grandmother's clothes. My name is Doctor

 

Doyle Grimaldi and I know exactly what you're worth - without ever laying eyes on you, I know

 

exactly what you're worth down to the penny. The human body is a gold mine if you have the

 

knowledge and the means to dig as deep as you need to dig. I have both in spades. What you're

 

about to read may sicken you, shake you down to your foundations, and it probably should if

 

you're any kind of decent, compassionate person. For those who aren't, pay close attention - you

 

might learn something useful.

 

*************

 

The voice on the other end of Janelle Townsend's phone carried all the desperation and

 

fear one would expect in a call received at two in the morning. Morgan Clarke was a journalist, a

 

damn good one, and a close friend since college. She'd been places like Afghanistan, Syria,

 

reporting on the front lines in the hottest of hot spots - anything that rattled her this much was

 

major to say the least.

 

“Morgan, Morgan… slow down. What you're saying doesn't make any sense…,” Janelle

 

murmured as she sat up in her soft bed and ran her fingers through her disheveled, raven-colored

 

hair. She hadn't heard from Morgan since their last reunion. What had been a close friendship

had gone the way of many such relationships when the obstacles of distance and busy schedules

 

are introduced into the mix.

 

“You're in danger, Janelle! Get to Pike Place Market - we can talk there!”

 

“Pike Place?! You're in Seattle?!” Janelle shot off the bed like a javelin. Morgan lived in

 

Boston, clear on the other side of the country. If she'd gone to the trouble and expense to come

 

out all this way to warn her, the situation had to be as dire as Morgan was making it sound.

 

“I'll… I’ll be there in twenty minutes…,” Janelle ended the disturbing call grabbing the

 

clothes closest to her trembling hands as she raced around her dark bedroom. She cast her eyes

 

towards her double windows and the rainy, beckoning world outside her spacious condo.

 

Satisfied that she was sufficiently dressed to face the cold and conceal her identity from anyone

 

set to do her harm, Janelle opened her nightstand and took out her Glock G43, stuffing it into her

 

purse. Owning a gun was a necessity for a single woman in a big city and the leading Medical

 

Examiner in the state. The rest of her journey from the sixth floor to the parking garage and her

 

Lexus coupe were a frantic, unnerving blur filled with memories of the time she and Morgan

 

climbed Mount Kilimanjaro on a post-graduation excursion and crashed a black-tie affair at the

 

home of the president of their Alma mater Stanford on a hilarious and ill-advised dare. She may

 

or may not have closed her front door as she ran to the stairs and practically spelunked the entire

 

way down to the too-quiet garage. The hand that wasn't strangling her pistol inside her purse

 

fumbled for her car keys as she approached her gleaming silver steed.

 

“I didn't know you lived in this building. Makes sense though. You work at the hospital,

right? University of Washington Medical Center? I… you probably think I'm some weird

 

stalker…,” the deep voice behind her and to her right caused Janelle to whip her body around to

 

face the person attached to the unwelcome greeting. It was the hunk from her Yoga class, the one

 

with the crystal blue eyes and the irresistible smile. She'd never gotten up the nerve to go talk to

 

him and meeting him under these conditions wasn't how she wanted to break the ice.

 

“I… I’m sorry. I'm in a hurry…,” she threw over her shoulder as she double-timed it to

 

her vehicle.

 

“Hey!” the well-built stranger moved to intercept Janelle with a speed that was

 

frightening given the circumstances. She pulled her pistol out of her purse and jerked her body,

 

facing her would-be attacker and leveling the gun at his head.

 

“Whoa! Take it easy! You're bleeding. I was just going to tell you you're bleeding…,” the

 

man threw his hands up into the air as the gun barrel entered his field of vision. Janelle’s hand

 

shook as time seemed to stand still. In all the years she'd owned it, she'd never pulled her firearm

 

on anyone, never even come close. Now, she was pointing it at someone who she knew

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